Drabble Requests for you to make
by Bizzy
Summary: Hey. I felt like writing some stuff, so here you are, request a Fullmetal Alchemist drabble, and I shall try to deliver! Most are RoyRiza centric, but I will write other things too! Make requests in a review, please.
1. Roy and Riza: Sky

_**Author's Note!** _Alas. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, but it'd be nifty if I did. I decided I wanted to just..write stuff. I asked a friend of mine to give me a prompt, and that's what this first fic is based on--the prompt 'sky'. I told her I wanted to write something Hawkeye and Mustang centric, and so...she just said use them ;;

I'm taking requests! Give as much or little detail as you want! I'll give anything a shot, but there are characters of whom I'm not sure I could grasp. I'll try to write somethign for every request I'm given.

* * *

_Prompt: Sky_

Lieutenant Hawkeye was looking upwards, head tilted back and eyes drooping slightly shut. The sky was gray, clouds filling with precipitation. It was going to rain, she noted quietly, yawning. She did not particularly enjoy the rain. What should be cloudless skies, filled with dark clouds, warning to spill over—it reminded her of the threat of tears, something she was acutely aware of while waiting at the train station.

Quite honestly, she had missed her train, twice already, actually. She had stood on this same platform, and watched the train go by. The first one, she pretended to be waiting for someone, and feigned surprise when the 'person' she was waiting for didn't get off. The second train came and went, and she crossed her arms, grumbling in how she let this one pass her as well.

So, as she waited for the third train to pull into the station, she found herself wondering if she would ever muster the courage to _get on_ said train. At any rate, she pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, wishing she had thought to bring gloves to keep the chill out of her hands. She worried about the effectiveness of her weapons in such inhospitable weather.

Hawkeye looked up dimly at the sky, taking in the cloudy gray. She could hear a train pulling into the station, and smirked slightly to herself. No, she was not going to be getting on this train either, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes, feeling rain patter on her face. "I _hate_ the rain," she declared to nobody in particular.

Eyes snapped open when the rain suddenly stopped, but the sound of pattering did not. She was staring directly up into an inky black eye, and amber eyes widened, sitting immediately upright.

"That's strange, Lieutenant. I happen to hate the rain, as well."


	2. Roy and Riza: Muffins

_Prompt: Muffins_

Submitted by: Crystal Jaganshi

Author's Notes: Yay drabble request. This is the first request I've gotten, and I was given some specific stuff. I was hoping someone would request non-angst…I've been in a bit of an angst funk because…yeah. Life stinks.

Anywho. Prompt, muffins.

Don't own FMA. Also, this is probably dopey. But, I could see Riza doing this. Sorta. Sorry if this is somewhat OOC, I know it's bordering on it, at least.

* * *

He gazed absently at the ceiling, wondering if his Lieutenant ever planned on arriving this morning. It was almost 0900 hours, and she was due by 0800 hours. And now, as the chime rang to his immediate right, he grumbled, looking up from the work that he was currently not doing.

"Sir?"

Sergeant Major Fuery was carrying a small pile of papers and placing them on Mustang's desk.

"Yes, Fuery?"

The smaller man peered over the tops of his glasses, offering his superior officer a smile. "Lieutenant Hawkeye just called, sir."

"Did she?" Mustang sat bolt upright, and then slowed his reaction down just to make it seem as though he wasn't waiting for her call. "What did she say?"

"She apologized, and said she was caught up with something with Black Hayate. She's on her way here now, sir." Fuery turned back to his desk, and sat back down, flipping through pages.

Mustang returned to his work, grumbling the whole while. It felt like, the _one day_ he was at the office on time, and she was late. An hour late, at that. He heard rapping on the door, and then scratching.

Fuery walked to the door, opening it. Black Hayate bounded in and yapped brightly, eager for Fuery to scratch his ears. He grinned, and patted the dog's head, hearing the clicking of boots behind him. Fuery got to his feet quickly, upright, in a salute. "Lieutenant Hawkeye."

She waved a hand at him, a box tucked carefully in her arm, bag hanging over her shoulder, "at ease, Sergeant."

Hawkeye stalked to her desk, depositing her bag on the chair, Hayate bounding after her, yapping excitedly. Then, she turned to Mustang, the smallest smile on her face. She brought the box to his desk, placed it carefully in front of him, and then opened it.

"Happy birthday, sir."


	3. Al and Sheska: Brother's Book

_Prompt: Write an Al/Shiezka, with no dying_

Submitted by: Wing Omega

Author's Notes: So. I've never read Al and Shiezka, nor have I ever even heard of the pairing. But it seems kind of sweet. I'm not sure if I'll write this as a _pairing _pairing, in the strongest sense of the word. I can't picture Al too much older.

* * *

The train pulled to a slow stop in Central station, and people began filing out. Alphonse was up first, and grabbed the bags he and Winry had brought with them, headed for the exit.

"Al, wait up, nobody's _going_ anywhere, we're in no rush!" Winry was almost running after him.

"Sorry," he replied quietly. "I'm just curious."

Winry nodded slowly, "I know, Al. Just a couple of more minutes, okay. You're taller than your brother the bean, but you aren't _that_ tall. You won't exactly stand out in a crowd."

"Winry!"

The voice startled them both, and Winry turned immediately with recognition. "Shiezka!"

The younger boy watched silently, recognition lacking in his golden eyes as he watched the two girls hug. They exchanged conversation that he paid no mind to, and then Shiezka's eyes widened.

"You look a lot like your brother, Al," Shiezka declared. "It's weird, even though I knew you were coming with Winry, I wasn't sure what I thought you'd look like. But seeing you, I would've known it was you even if you were alone."

Al glanced to Winry, unsure as to how to take this comment. Thank you seemed awkward but no other comment came to mind. "Thank you?" he asked softly, bowing his head just slightly. "It's nice to meet you, Shiezka."

Shiezka smiled wearily, dark eyes shooting a glance at Winry. She knew Alphonse didn't remember, but that didn't make the lack of familiarity in his tone any more bearable. It was the same voice she had come to know—but almost a completely different person. "It's nice to meet you again, Al."

Winry noticed the look of discomfort on both parties' faces, and grabbed a bag from Al, tugging at his arm. "Come on, Al, all this traveling made me tired. Where are we going first, Shiezka?"

The brown-haired girl smiled wearily, "actually, I need to go back to the office for a bit. I need to get some documents transcribed before I'm done for the day, your train got here a little early. Gracia said she'd come to meet you, Winry. She said she'd be happy to see you."

Alphonse suddenly spoke up, eyes wide as though he couldn't grasp why he even said it, "could I go with her, Winry?"

"What? Sure, Al," Winry replied quietly, surprised by the boy's comment. "Give me your bag. Is it all right if he goes with you, Shiezka? He's a lot like you, give him a book and he'll shut up for however long it takes to finish it."

"Hey!" Both Shiezka and Alphonse opened their mouths to protest to Winry's statement, and then glanced at each other with a slight laugh. Winry smiled, suddenly at ease with the thought of Al meandering to the military base. It didn't seem to matter where he went, he was talking to someone again. That was so different from his recent behavior, that any change of pace was welcome.

"Sure, Al. I'm hoping this doesn't take _too_ long," she added wearily, "I've been here since before the sun came up, trying to finish before you guys got here."

"Maybe I can help," the boy blabbered as they walked back towards the military base.

"Al?"

He was intensely focused on the book she had given him, because though he did assist her with things like fetching another pen or more paper, he really was very little use to her transcribing efforts. He got too involved in things when he read, so having him read the document while she transcribed it was a futile effort—though that didn't say much for her, as she tended to do the same thing.

"Al?" Shiezka repeated, peering over the top of the desk. He was reading fervently, some alchemy book she had dug out from some corner of the library. Winry had mentioned that he was back studying with Izumi.

"Al!"

He suddenly snapped up from his book, "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Yeah?"

"I'm done," she declared, snatching the book from him. "I have to put that away—"

"Wait!"

Shiezka turned as she was walking back to the bookcase. "What?"

Al stared at the ground. "It has Brother's handwriting in it. In the margins."

Shiezka opened the book, and though she didn't recognize the handwriting immediately, she knew she could trust Al's judgment more than anyone else's.

"I'm sorry, Al. I have to put it back," she said quietly, slipping it onto the shelf. "It's getting late, isn't it?"

He looked up from the ground, peering at the window. "Yeah."

"Winry is probably waiting for you to get back."

Al nodded.

"I can walk you to where she is, you shouldn't wander around Central by yourself. I've lived here for years and I get lost still." Shiezka crossed the room, gathering both hers and Al's coat off the rack in the corner, handing him his. She couldn't help but notice the sadness in the boy's eyes, when she was struck with an idea. She snuck over to the bookcase, "I'll be out in a second, Al. I forgot a few files I need to bring home."

She reached into the corner of the bookcase, and slid the book on alchemy he had been reading into her bag, before stuffing in a few files for good mesures.

"Okay, let's go."

The next morning, Shiezka was knocking fervently on the door to Gracia's house, hoping that someone was awake. Sure enough, the door opened just a crack, and there stood Alphonse, looking tired. Golden eyes widened slightly as he saw Shiezka standing there, in civilian clothing instead of her uniform, glasses perched just slightly crooked on her nose, brown eyes tired and dark hair more of a mop than a hairstyle.

"Shiezka? Are you all right?" he asked quietly, curiously, before stepping outside to meet her. He felt it was not within his realm of permissible behavior to invite her inside without Gracia's permission.

"Yeah," Shiezka said quietly, reaching into her bag, digging for something. "I brought something for you," she startled blabbering, "I think you'll like it." She knocked a book from her bag, and Al bent down to pick it up, when another came slipping out the opposite end.

"Do you usually carry this many books?"

Shiezka flushed, but didn't look up from her search, and nodded, "yeah. Usually more, actually. Wait, I think—yeah. Here!" Proudly, she produced a small box, beaming. "It took me all night, but I think you're going to like it." She shoved the box into the bewildered boy's hands, waiting. "Go on, open it, Al!"  
He carefully undid the brown ribbon, and opened the box. Inside was the alchemy book he had been reading, the exact copy. He flipped through the pages once and then twice, seeing the exact markings his brother had left.

"But how did you…?"

"I copied the text and his notes last night, bound it, and gave you the original. I don't think anyone else will notice if the handwriting is someone else's. At least…nobody but you." She was smiling, though she seemed exhausted. "Do you like it?"

Al grinned, his whole face consumed by the smile, before he threw his arms around her, "yes! Thank you so much."

Shiezka froze, and then smiled at him, returning the hug. "I'm glad."

* * *

Final Author's Notes:

Well, there you go. I know this is rather lousy, but I tried. Once I figured out what I wanted as far as how to get a cute moment between them, it was a little easier, but I had to mull through a few different beginnings to the piece to get it here. I hope you like it, Wing Omega. If you submit another prompt at some point with a more specific guidelines (like, Al/Shiezka, books or Al/Shiezka in the future, etc.) it might be better.

I hope you liked the crud I wrote. And yeah, this is long for a drabble. Because I wasn't sure what to go on, it was a bit longer as I had to process it.


	4. Roy and Winry: I Come to Apologize

_Prompt: Roy/Winry drabble_

Submitted by: Malicious-Alchemist

Author's Notes: Still do not own FMA. Still would be Super Awesome if I did. And yes, Malicious-Alchemist, this _is_ a challenge. I'll do my best, but as I said for Shiezka/Al, it may not be 'pairing' in the strictest sense of the word, but it will involve them. I'd promise except you never know with my overtired brain. Here goes!

* * *

For—how many years was it, now? He wasn't sure—he had come to this graveyard. He had crossed over the grass, into the field of graves, meandering to the far left corner, beneath a tree. He knew there graves. He knew them, because he _put_ these people in them. He knew them because whenever he looked at that girls' face, he saw them staring back at him.

Roy Mustang came every year to apologize.

He had come across her, at their graves, for the first time about two years ago. She had been crying, holding two bouquets of flowers, trying to figure out how to arrange them over her parents' grave. She saw him, and turned, sprinting into the dark.

He wondered if Winry Rockbell even knew that the two graves were empty.

She was here today, he noticed, this time holding what looked like a circular flower decoration. He remembered it—one time he had seen the Elrics make the same flower wreath for Nina. He tilted his head, wondering if Alphonse had made it for her, Alphonse or Edward. Roy pictured the younger of the two brothers being more caught up in the sentimentality of the flower wreath.

"Hello, Winry."

The girl turned, startled, dropping the wreath atop the mound of dirt.

"What are you doing here?"

The bitterness in her voice was apparent, and he stiffened immediately at the harshness of her tone. He couldn't blame her, when all was said and done. That she was hurt. That she was kneeling on the ground, in front of the man who killed her parents, and knew she couldn't—shouldn't do anything about it.

"I came to apologize."

"To whom?" Winry was on her feet, and he surveyed her appearance. The black did little for her lithe frame, almost made her pale skin look sickly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her gaze snapped back to the graves to her left.

He paused, crossing his arms, defensively, unsure as to how to even approach the girl. Did she even understand? He certainly didn't come to gloat at their graves, if that was what she intended to insinuate. "To them."

He heard a sound not unlike a choked gasp, and then what was definitely a quiet sob. "Why?" She had turned her back on him, head bowed, shoulders trembling with exhaustion or sorrow or both.

"There's something to be said for hindsight, Ms. Rockbell," Roy replied tiredly, as though this was an explanation he had given far too many times. "I've been coming every year for a long time."

"It's_ your_ fault that there are _graves_ to visit anyway."

She stiffened under his inky black gaze, wiping her eyes, and he was reminded suddenly that no matter how mature she may behave, she was, in many ways, still a child. A child who had lost her parents very young. A child who had her back to her parents murderer, currently.

"That's why I come to apologize and pay my respects." His answer was calm, and she turned slowly, confused, eyes shining with tears.

"You really come, every year?"

He nodded slowly. "I was here last year, don't you remember?"

She shook her head no, "I just saw someone in a uniform, and left."

He found himself frowning, the defensive position slowly dropping. She might still remind him of a child, but in years, she was beyond that. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at her, seeing the tears streaming down her face.

Uncomfortable, he fished into his pocket, managing to produce a handkerchief. A killer with a heart of gold—he closed the distance between them and wiped her eyes dry, his frown only deepening.

"I think I might have someone else to apologize to, as well," the words tumbled slowly from his mouth, and he saw her eyes widen. One of her hands was on his wrist, as though she was trying to move his arm away from her face.

"…Who?"

The saddest smile crossed his features, just slightly. His efforts only created more tears. Slowly, both arms entwined her shoulders, and he pulled the girl into a hug. Gentle. "You."

* * *

Final Author's Note:

So…angst, much? I tried. Roy and Winry seem to lend themselves to angst, and this was the first setting that came to mind for them. Besides, he apologized. And you did get a hug. So sue me, it was bad…I'm sorry…I tried.


	5. Roy and Riza: But I Do

_Prompt: "More Royai"_

Submitted by: Jaycee Eternally

Author's note: Yes, that's right; I did skip a prompt—so sue me (don't worry, Causmicfire, I'm coming back to yours! I promise! As soon as I get this out of my head.) This gave me the chance to write a one-shot/drabble…thingy that's been bouncing about in my head all week since I got a CD from an off-Broadway show I saw in February. It will be a kind-of songfic. I'm using just a very short bit of the song:

"_I don't know why I love him,_

_I don't need her anyway…_

_But I do_."

'But I Do' from I Love You Because

Oh yeah. This is my first…manga-verse fic. It's going to contain spoilers for chapter…uhm (gosh, I fail at life, seriously) I think its Chapter 56. If you read it and you know the manga, then you'll get it—if you don't, well…sorry. It will give it away.

So…what happened after Führer Bradley dismissed the Colonel after giving his reassignment orders?

* * *

It took all of her self control to not throw the letter directly back at the men from the personnel department. In fact, it took all of her self control to remain upright. The personal assistant to the _Führer_, of all people. Kain Fuery was standing to her immediate left, and his face was pallid.

"The Führer had us reassigned all over Amestris," he murmured, disbelieving. He peered over the top of his glasses as Riza Hawkeye nodded slowly.

"Yes," she replied almost silently, glaring daggers at the backs of the personnel department employees, "he did."

* * *

"You're using her as a _hostage_!"

His anger was almost palpable.

"To keep me in line, as you so kindly put it! To remind me of my place!"

The Führer crossed his arms, a devilish smirk on his features.

"What does she have to do with _anything_? If you're trying to teach me a lesson, you're going at the wrong people!"

But the Führer's smirk held a hint of knowledge, as if he had expected this reaction. "I do believe I've gone after precisely the right _person_, Colonel. Judging by your reaction, my move could not have been better calculated."

Roy Mustang was almost fuming, his gaze downcast and his body stiff as he contemplated his next move. "What do you want?"

"I've already told you. To keep you in your place. And to teach her _hers_."

Mustang paled, slightly. Immediately, his eyes shot up to look at the Führer, the glare bordering on violent. "First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye follows orders. Anything you feel you need to 'teach' her is really a lesson that you are directing at the wrong person."

"First Lieutenant Hawkeye is capable of thinking for herself in spite of orders from her superior officer."

The Colonel got to his feet, all color since having drained from his face. The only response he could even begin to come up with that might save her from being mistreated by this bastard was, "I don't need her anyway."

If the words surprised him, the Führer made no motion to show it, and just waved a hand in dismissal, single eye watching him go.

Outside, Mustang started down the hall, hoping to find her before the personnel department did, mumbling under his breath. "But…I do."

* * *

She was holding a box, silent as she piled things into it. Amber eyes focused only at the task on hand, and she hardly glanced up when the door to the shared office opened. Most officers had gone home by now, having been dismissed at 1700 hours. She was still here. Packing.

"First Lieutenant."

"Colonel."

She sounded sad—if he could even call it that. Sad, worried, perhaps a quiet mixture of both. Ink-black eyes stared at her form, slightly slouched shoulders and bowed head. Hawkeye was completely aware of what this reassignment was really for.

"The Führer has reassigned you," he said quietly.

She nodded, "yes, sir."

"As his personal assistant."

"Yes, sir. I don't believe I've ever had a more pointless assignment in my career, sir."

"You don't need to call me sir, Lieutenant."

"If I don't need to refer to you as sir, then you don't need to refer to me as Lieutenant."

The remark surprised him, and he noticed that she had since stopped piling papers into her box and was instead staring directly at him, mouth set in a thin line, stiff. Her eyes betrayed the calculated and calm demeanor she was struggling so hard to portray. He wondered if it was for her benefit, or for his.

He sank into his desk chair, and she crossed over, a file in hand. Her gaze was strict as she handed it to him, if only for old times' sake. "You didn't finish your paperwork today, sir."

"I was in the Führer's office all afternoon," he protested, easily falling into routine. Routine was safer. Routine was _routine_ and that's what made it comfortable.

"You need to finish your work, sir."

The way she carried herself was not routine. The way she said those words was far from routine, and it shattered the façade he was so willing to accept, if even for the next ten minutes. He knew that his reaction would be far from routine, as well, and that there was no routine he could fall into now that would ease his frustrations or his worries.

"I'm sorry, Riza," he mumbled, taking the files from her and slipping them into a desk drawer, "I just can't."

He could hear her sigh quietly above his head, and the click of her boots as she returned to her desk. Finally, papers being folded and slid away into that box that he wanted to throw out the window if he could just get rid of it.

"I should be the one apologizing."

She was staring again, and she acknowledged the sound of his boots clicking as he walked over to her, crossing his arms.

"No. You should not be the one apologizing. The only person who should be apologizing is Führer Bradley."

Amber eyes softened, and the smallest smile grew on her face. "I know."

"Whatever you do, Riza, don't let him win this," his voice was quiet, concerned. One hand was on her shoulder.

"I know, sir," she replied.

"Riza?"

She sighed, looking to his face, meeting his gaze. "Yes, sir?"

"Call me Roy, even if it's just once."

Hawkeye froze, and then stepped out of his touch, reaching into her drawer. She produced a single envelope, and handed it to him, the smile fading into a frown and her gaze dark. "This is for you, Roy. I'm going home for the night."

He nodded slowly, staring at the envelope and debating whether or not to open it. His eyes followed her as she took her bag from her chair and stalked to the door. They followed her as she opened the door, and as she left. Once he was certain she was gone, he sat in the chair at her desk, carefully opening the envelope. He was only somewhat aware of the neat printing that read 'Colonel Roy Mustang' on the front, and pulled out a small card, opening it carefully. In the same neat print on the front, the card read:

_I don't know why I love him,_

_But I do._

It wasn't signed. He didn't need a signature because he would recognize her handwriting anywhere. As he left the office, he slid the envelope and card into his breast pocket, closing the door behind him. The office wouldn't be the same without her, but he could almost imagine her presence anyway, sitting in her chair and working silently like she did every day. Her words would be the only reminder he needed.

* * *

Final Author's Note:

Like? I do. The ending wasn't as clear as I would've liked…maybe I'll give this another go some other day.


	6. Al and Rose: Caught in the Rain

_Prompt: Al and Rose_

Submitted by: Causmicfire

Author's Notes: I told ya, Causmic, that this'd show up eventually. Here goes. I have no concept of Rose in character, so I'm going to stick with what I know…or can at least do feasibly. I know there is a good chance this will be insanely out of character, and for that I apologize. But I will try. Enjoy, if nothing else I'll try to _write_ well. But I make no promises as it's 10:25 PM and I've been up since 6 AM. Anyway. Al and Rose. This will not be a pairing, I just…well now that the one person is saying Al and Shiezka, and the more I think of it, it seems to make sense to my brain. Then again…my brain is odd. I don't think this will be a pairing, anyway, but who knows when I'm overtired? On with the fic before I bore you to tears.

* * *

"Alphonse?"

The thunder cracked overhead, and Rose peered down at the sleeping boy. She had grown used to this particular position, hunched beneath a tree, book rested in his lap. Half of the time, he would be awake and so absorbed in his reading he wouldn't acknowledge her. The other half of the time, he would be fast asleep and still would not acknowledge her.

Today, he was asleep and not acknowledging her. In fact, he was so soundly asleep that he disregarded the thunder roaring overhead. She shuddered, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders, and wondering if the thunder had woken her son from his nap.

"Alphonse, it's going to rain," she said quietly, crouching down and carefully folding over the edge of the page to his book, and tucking it into her bag. She had both hands on his shoulders.

"Al, it's _going to rain_," she repeated. Finally, he stirred, yawning. Gold eyes peered at her in a freshly-woken-up stupor.

"Huh?" he asked quietly, rubbing his eyes and stretching the sleep out of him.

"It's going to—" Rose didn't have the chance to finish her sentence as the sky opened up, and torrents of rain started pounding down on both their heads. She shivered, looking in her bag only to find that she had left her umbrella at the house. The boy immediately turned his back on her, scribbling something or other, and collecting this-and-that; she couldn't tell from the way his back was to her. All she could do was watch him work away, until finally, with a clap and a flash of light, he turned back around, beaming, and holding a makeshift umbrella.

Opening it, he got to his feet, and offered his hand to Rose, helping her up.

"It's the best I could do with some twigs and leaves, sorry, Rose," he said sleepily, holding it over both of their heads. Bodies were pressed close together as they walked slowly back to the house, trying to keep each other as warm and dry as they could. Her steps were uneven, the ground growing more slippery as they walked back to the safety and warmth of the house. She was shivering.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, frowning.

"It's just cold, Al, I'm all right," she said quietly.

He shook his head, "uh…" the boy hesitated, and then handed her the umbrella, slipping his jacket off of his shoulders, placing it on her shoulders. "You can't catch cold, not if you want to take care of the baby!" He grinned at her, just slightly, and then bolted out from beneath the umbrella, running through the downpour. The last thing she could make out of his figure was his caramel-brown hair, plastered against his head as the rain soaked him through.

The smallest smile crossed her face, and she knew he'd have a terrible cold tomorrow and would be miserable in spite of himself, particularly knowing that he had asked for it. She resolved to take care of him when he woke up feeling ill the next morning, perhaps as her own thank you for his kindness in the rain.

* * *

Final Author's Note:

I guess this is the first real "drabble" of my little series of drabble...thingies. I know, this wasn't the greatest. Like I said, I have a very, _very_ limited grasp on Rose as a character, so this was tough for me to write. I hope you at least enjoyed it.

Keep requesting! I have two more to go as of tonight (11 PM, September 28, 2006) so…keep requesting!


	7. Al and Sheska: Unwritten

_Prompt: Al and Shiezka_

Submitted by: Wing Omega

Author's Notes: So…I know I've been hitting the angst hard, and I regret to inform you that my angst isn't going anywhere any time soon, for which I truly apologize. I have a question for my readers, what _is_ the proper spelling of 'Shiezka'? I've seen 'Sheska' and 'Shiezka'. Anyone know what the proper one is?

Anyway. As I told someone who has given me consistent reviews (which makes me happy), my angst has been because I've been in a particularly low mood due to life stinking a lot, so it rubs off on characters I use in story-writing-land. I apologize.

Still don't own FMA. Someone wanna buy it for me for my birthday?

PS: Movie spoilers…didn't plan that originally…

* * *

The library was quiet, and she flipped each page slowly, engrossed. It was a captivating book on alchemy, and though she understood very little of it, the book was in the library and, therefore, lent itself to being read. 

It was the door swinging open so violently that snapped her attention away from said book, and she looked up, seeing a red-cloaked figure darting through the room. She got to her feet immediately, frustrated that he had just come running in and disturbing the silence in the building; she considered it well within her rights to scold him for being so inconsiderate.

The brunette finally found him in a back corner of the library, sitting on the floor, and instantly, green eyes widened behind glasses. That red coat, the black shirt, the hair; she knew she recognized him.

"E…Edward?" she stammered, before crouching down on the floor. "Ed?" she repeated, gripping his shoulders, shaking him, "Ed, listen to me—we've been so worried, Winry's been beside herself, you've been gone for almost two years—where have you _been_? You're brother is convinced that—"

She fell silent when the person finally looked up.

"_Alphonse_!"

His eyes were just a hair darker than his older brother's, his face pallid and hair plastered against his head from running, or perhaps the rain; Shiezka wasn't sure. Either way, he looked distressed.

"Al…what are you doing here? Are you all right?" She tilted Al's chin upwards, to make out the rest of his features. He looked younger than she might've pictured him, but the resemblance to his brother was uncanny. In Ed's clothes, he looked just like his brother.

"I don't know," came the quiet response.

Shiezka frowned, reaching into a pocket in search of a handkerchief, towel, anything she could dry him off with. Anything. "How did you get all the way to Central?"

He only shrugged.

"Al, please," Shiezka murmured quietly, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. "I don't know what happened but…you…you're soaking wet. At least let me find you something dry to wear."

Al yanked his hand away from her, eyes narrowed defensively, and she froze, panicked. Then, her eyes flickered with remembrance.

"You don't remember me."

Slowly, he shook his head. "No," he said softly. "I don't. I can't."

Shiezka frowned, but grabbed his hand again, tugging him back to where she had been sitting, before gathering her books and her umbrella, slipping on her jacket. "Shiezka," she said quietly. "Winry has been writing to me, telling me how things have been going. I heard you were back with your teacher, Izumi Curtis."

He stiffened, and shook his head.

"No? Why would she say that…"

"Teacher passed away," he replied softly, golden eyes focused on the ground.

"Oh…Al, I'm…I'm so sorry," she mumbled, brows furrowed as she started towards the door. "Come on. You can't go walking about soaking wet, you'll catch your death of a cold."

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Woah! So I wrote this out, and it seemed to warrant itself to be more than a drabble. Sooo…Wing Omega, I hope you like it, it's dedicated to you. My brain decided that it wanted a full-fledged…fic. So, here is the beginning so you know I didn't forget about you—I'll post this chapter and the next couple of bits that I have written thus far up in a bit. Enjoy.


	8. Roy and Riza: I Can Explain

_Prompt: Royai + one dozen roses + one jar of pickles + one fire caused by the Flame Alchemist_

Submitted by: BlackStarAlchemist

Author's Notes: Mmm…I have no idea where this one is going to go. At. All. As I've said in every other chapter, I do not own FMA, though it'd be Really Super Cool if I did. But I don't, so, that is all. I'm going to start writing now. By the way, it's so 1:23 AM my time, so, I make no promises as to the quality. I want to try and do this in some semblance of seriousness, but I don't know how that's going to work. I mean…if pickles weren't in there, it might've worked. But we'll see what happens…

* * *

It was raining. 

At first, that might have been a feasible explanation for his Lieutenant's tardiness. But when the rain settled down, and she still did not arrive at the office, he was concerned. Fuery insisted that she had called in very early that morning, saying she had something to attend to for the day, and that she would not be in work at all today.

Mustang didn't believe him, because there really was no reason to.

But the Sergeant Major was insistent on getting his superior officer to believe him. "Sir, I've told you, I spoke to her this morning. She said there was something she had to take care of out of town, and asked me to go feed Black Hayate this evening."

Colonel Mustang did not look up from the paperwork he was ignoring, and instead pretended that he was quite absorbed by the work.

"Sir?"

It was quiet for another moment, before Mustang slammed his pen on the desk. "I'll take care of the dog, Fuery."

"But sir, you don't—"

"I said I'll take care of the dog!" he snapped, frustrated. After Fuery retreated to his desk, defeated, Mustang went back to staring at his paperwork. He was particularly irritable when Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn't around. Something about her—though she was unafraid of taking fire at fellow officers—settled a sort of calmness in the office. She was levelheaded and persistent in her working habits, and it tended to rub off on the other people in the office. He wanted her there to insist upon getting his work done, or there to dissuade their inferior officers from pulling off some miserable prank that they certainly shouldn't be doing.

At midday, instead of going to lunch, he sulked in the office, cranky. Shortly after the other officers returned from lunch, he cleaned the windows, straightened out his desk for the fifteenth time that morning, and checked on everyone else's work. He would place paperwork on Lieutenant Hawkeye's desk, only to take it back. There was no fun in giving her his paperwork if she wasn't there to give it back to him, really.

When the day ended, he was the first to leave, rushing. He went directly to her apartment, expecting Black Hayate to be noisy. What he had not been expecting was to hear Black Hayate barking from the lower level of the apartment complex. He bolted up the stairs, to find that the door to Hawkeye's apartment was open just a crack. Hayate's barking was panicked.

Carefully, Mustang swung the door open, taking a wary step into the room, tugging on his ignition cloth glove before peering about the room. Things seemed to be in order, though he could hardly hear a thing over the dog's incessant barking. Something smashed in the kitchen, and he immediately stalked over there, eyes narrowed defensively. How _dare_ someone sneak into _his Lieutenant's_ apartment while she was away, and then have the discourtesy to let things break.

From his vantage point by the kitchen, he saw a stranger, or who he could only assume was a stranger. The figure was not one he recognized immediately. The man was crouched on the floor, anxiously trying to clean up the mess he had made. It looked as though he knocked things out of Hawkeye's cabinet, and Mustang quirked a brow as the slight scent of pickles wafted through the air. He realized that whoever was currently in her apartment might have been looking for food, and decided that perhaps Mustang would be the bigger man and give him a chance to defend himself.

"What are you doing in here?" Mustang's voice was level, ink-black eyes narrowed as he stared the stranger down.

Immediately, the burglar turned and faced Mustang, his round face pallid. "D-don't move! I'll…I'll shoot!" His hands were scrambling for a weapon, and Mustang felt his face fall when he saw the stranger holding one of Hawkeye's guns. He recognized it immediately.

"I don't want to hurt you, just get out and I won't do anything," Mustang ordered, standing at the ready, his gloved hand tucked carefully in his pocket, prepared to snap and manipulate to chase the man out of the apartment if the need arose.

"I said I'll shoot! Don't move!"

Black Hayate barked, running around Mustang's feet and then darting over to the burglar, biting at his pants leg and ankle. Panicked, the stranger turned the gun on the dog and shot, though his aim was so poor that he almost hit his foot, and instead ended up shooting a bullet directly into the floor.

"Leave Hayate alone!" Mustang hollered, his gloved hand no free from his pocket, snapping in frustration. Flame emitted from the spark, and he could hear the burglar scream some profanities as he darted for the door. His coat was on fire, which certainly wouldn't be enough to hurt him but it would be enough to keep him from coming back to the apartment. Mustang didn't bother to chase him, as his attention was currently diverted to the small pile of papers on Hawkeye's table that was now on fire.

"Shit," he cursed, turning to grab a bucket from the door when he almost ran directly into Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, who was staring at him, dumbfounded, with her weapon drawn and aimed.

* * *

It had been a disaster. Mustang knew he should've exercised more care in his use of alchemy in Hawkeye's apartment, but he had been concerned for the little dog's well being. The state of her apartment was not of great concern, as he managed to severely damage the kitchen because the two of them had engaged in quite the shouting match after her arrive. The Lieutenant was determined to find out why her superior office was in her apartment and setting things on fire, and the Colonel infuriated that she was at first disbelieving about his rendition of the story. 

The next morning, he found himself feeling guilty. Her apartment was in shambles and likely would be for quite a while as it underwent repairs. Arriving at work at what he deemed an _indecent_ hour, Mustang placed his gift on her desk, took all of the files he needed to complete in the day, and left before anyone else arrived.

Hawkeye was first to the office as she was almost every day. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the bouquet of red roses sitting on her desk. Shaking her head tiredly, she found that she didn't want to deal with any of this now, and considered just ignoring them. Black Hayate had come along to the office today, as her apartment was currently no place for him. And Hayate seemed to have a very different idea about the flowers, as he climbed onto the table and bit his teeth into the small card attached to the flowers.

Hawkeye sighed, and walked over, "all right, Hayate," she said quietly, taking the card and opening it.

_Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye;_

_I am terribly sorry about what occurred in your apartment last night. May you be advised that there is no opening in the military dormitory for you and your dog, Black Hayate. You're welcome to stay in my apartment for the time being. And Lieutenant, that is an order._

_Roy Mustang_

* * *

Final Author's Notes: 

Ok. So you can pass judgment on this one. I'm not so sure if I like it. Particularly Roy's note, but I rewrote it (twice), and I feel like this is the better version. It seems like he might say that.

Was it stupid? Yeah, I guess. Hawkeye isn't dumb enough to leave her door unlocked, Hayate's barking would've stirred up commotion in an apartment complex blah blah blah…but this is what you get. I tried to keep it feasible by writing it from this standpoint. I don't particularly like it…but I tried. Like I said, I will post things for every request I get if at all possible.

**Shameless Advertising:** Chapter 7, titled Al and Sheizka: Unwritten _is now a story with it's own story…thing_. It is titled 'Unwritten', two chapters in, and it can be found over yonder: http / www. fanfiction. net/ s / 3176163 / 1 /

**Author is Requesting Help: WHAT IS THE PROPER SPELLING FOR SHESKA'S NAME? (Is it Shiezka or Sheska or…something entirely different?)**


	9. Roy and Riza: Trees

_Prompt: Roy and Riza, Trees_

Submitted by: Causmicfire

Author's Notes: It is nighttime, I wrote this in the middle of the day at work. Black Hayate wanted some love, and trees could be involved. I may be getting sick because my mother has an awful stomach bug, so…yeah. Enjoy!

* * *

The Saturday afternoon was pleasantly warm, just the proper amount of breeze to keep the temperature comfortable. The park was crowded with parents, children and pets, enjoying the beautiful weather. Some were enjoying a picnic lunch with friends, other playing games, and still others throwing balls for their canine companions to catch.

In civilian clothing with her blonde hair loose over her shoulders, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye almost blended in with the crowd. Her small dog, Black Hayate, was tremendously enjoying his mommy throwing a ball for him, _just_ so he could run off and catch it. Every time, the little black and white ball of energy would bound after the ball, emphatically yapping the whole way. He returned with the blue ball like clockwork, depositing it at his mommy's feet. She seemed happy to repeat the process too, at least until she scooped up his ball to tuck it away.

Yawning, she moved to the shade of the trees, settling herself down and seeing to it that Hayate was comfortable too. The dog decided that today's greatest place of comfort would be in his mommy's lap, and took his place of honor, curling up. She placed a hand on his head to scratch behind his ears, her other hand grabbing her book and flipping it open to read.

"What a surprise, Lieutenant."

Even on her rare day off, she responded to her military rank, and peered up from her book to see her superior officer, Colonel Roy Mustang, directly in front of her. "Good afternoon, sir."

He smirked at her, a trademarked, characteristic look that suited his features, before tilting his head just slightly to the right. "Is that a good book?"

She glanced up once again, and this time the dog looked up as well. "Yes, sir, it is."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he looked up at the green foliage overhead. "Would you mind if I joined you, Lieutenant?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "Not at all, sir—there's plenty of room."

There was a moderate amount of shifting and then the two were settled. Black Hayate glanced from his mother to his mother's friend, sniffing vigorously. He then stretched himself out as far as he could, resting his front paws on him and his hind legs on her, his belly flopped into the grass in the space between their forms.

She appeared surprised, but he snickered, scratching the dog's head. "That certainly can't be good for his back," he declared.

"No, I would suppose not." She was resting one hand on the dog's back, fiddling with his fur.

For a moment, he was silent, and then he took a moment to look at his Lieutenant. "It doesn't seem fair to make him choose to sit with," he replied, both hands gently scooping up the front of the pup as he inched closer to her, until their shoulders were brushing. Here, he resituated himself. He could feel her shifting to do the same.

Proud of himself, Black Hayate yapped brightly, perching himself directly on the space where their bodies met, gazing up at her with a winning puppy-dog smile that the woman couldn't interpret.

_Success.

* * *

_

Final Author's Note:

Whoooooosh. Black Hayate was feeling very neglected, so he decided to play matchmaker. That is him, by the way, the success. He's so awfully proud of himself, and all he did was get two people to make themselves a _chair_ for him. Though I'm sure, if he knew what getting Roy and Riza to make a 'chair' for him meant, he would be even more proud.

That is all.

I know this isn't so much _trees_ related, but they are…under…a tree. Yeah. Hope you liked it ;


	10. Roy and Riza: The Hunt

_Prompt: The Hunt_

Submitted by: Dailenna

Author's Notes: Here goes. This may turn out angsty, I'm in a fairly bad mood. I have a fluffy version and an angsty version in my head. We'll see what I end up writing; if I write both I'll post both. **I want this considered rated T+, it is a bit graphic and rather violent**. Manga spolers, Scars of Ishbal and beyond

* * *

He had been hunting for her.

The first day he didn't hear from her, he just assumed something had come up. It was a Sunday, after all, and Sunday was her rare day off. He knew that she took care of various errands, cleaning and cooking and preparing for the week on Sundays, and so he didn't hold it against her and wasn't particularly aggravated by her lack of returning his phone call.

On Monday, when she did not arrive at the office on time, he blamed it on the inclement weather. The downpour of rain had the Colonel in a foul mood, and he insisted upon taking it out on everyone else in the room. He counted the minutes that she did not arrive. By the time 1200 hours came and went, he was a bit concerned. Late was understandable, but to not arrive at all was unlike her. He telephoned her house, and got no response. There was a rumor of a bad stomach bug going around headquarters, and he found himself wondering if she had caught it. If that was the case, he didn't dare disturb her.

By Tuesday, he was getting frustrated. This was very unlike his Lieutenant, to not be heard of. But things came up and he had little time to do more than call her house and start murmuring biting remarks into the receiver when she did not pick up.

Wednesday came and went, and he was concerned. Concerned as to her whereabouts, and concerned as to why he hadn't heard from her since he had dismissed her from the office at the indecent time of 0200 hours on Saturday morning. She had said she would telephone him on Sunday. She never did make that call.

So when Thursday arrived, he abandoned the process of calling her house and started asking people around headquarters. To his dismay, nobody had seen his Lieutenant since she left very early Saturday morning, and not one of them had heard from her, including the nurse in the infirmary.

On Friday, he stormed out of his office at 1100 hours and made his way to her apartment. This was beyond unreasonable, and the more time he spent wondering where she had disappeared to, the more he began to worry. Worry that she could be very ill, on the floor of her apartment unconscious—worry about any and all possibilities.

Any and all possibilities spare the one that he encountered.

Her dog was barking. This was not unusual for the excitable black-and-white pup, and he found himself ignoring the dog as he knocked on the door to the apartment. For a moment, he found the lack of reply almost amusing, as if her practical joke was executed flawlessly and though he was furious with her, he didn't mind because she would come to the door and apologize in just a moment.

But after standing at her door for ten minutes, he couldn't wait a second longer, and turned the knob, trying to enter. The door was unlocked, and he found himself surprised. She was very cautious, very by the book, and it seemed unlike her to leave her door unlocked.

Colonel Roy Mustang realized, then, that _she_ had not left the door unlocked, that someone _else_ must have left the door unlocked. The rooms were chaotic, as if they had been ransacked. The boxes from her arrival in Central were still scattered about the apartment, but their contents were splayed on the floor. Things were scattered and messy and displaced and he knew right away that this was no way Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye would leave her apartment. He knew right away that something wasn't _right_ and he felt sickened at the very thought.

Someone had broken in. Immediately, he turned away and scooped up the dog, cradling him gently, and marched out the door. He was cooing quietly to Black Hayate as he knocked on her neighbor's door.

If the elderly woman had been surprised to see a stranger in military uniform at her door, she didn't show it. Frowning, she bowed her head. He asked if the woman had seen Lieutenant Hawkeye, and the woman fumbled over her thoughts. _Oh,_ she had said, _the woman in the military? I never see her—but her little dog has been barking on and off since Saturday morning, and he usually doesn't make so much noise. And I would've sworn I heard something break late Saturday night, maybe Sunday morning._

Little dog has been barking for days. Mustang thanked her for her assistance, and left the building in a sprint. Lieutenant Hawkeye couldn't have been in her apartment since she had left it on Friday morning for work, or Black Hayate wouldn't be causing such a fuss. He would have to return to headquarters, and report her missing.

* * *

They insisted on the fact that she must have just left town. This was Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, who never stepped out of her apartment door without having at least one gun on her person, if not two. Who would want to kidnap a first lieutenant, and why? There was so little logic behind Mustang's accusation that many of the higher ups just didn't want to believe him.

So they chose not to.

On Saturday, Mustang did all he could to try and convince the General that something just wasn't right, that he _knew_ his Lieutenant and it was unlike her to go missing for a week without a word to anyone. He tried to explain that this didn't make any sense, and for a short period of time, the General listened. At 1500 hours, the General had security escort Mustang out of headquarters.

Sunday rolled around, and Mustang was in the library. It was all he could do to not leave and search for her blindly. He had telephoned the General but had been denied the chance to speak to him.

When he came into the office on Monday, his subordinates were aware of the worry in his eyes. He was unshaven and exhausted and infuriated and they didn't dare cross his path. It was Fuery who suggested talking to Major Armstrong.

On Tuesday, Major Armstrong still could find nothing to back up Mustang's claim on the fact that Hawkeye had been kidnapped, despite all of the work he had done. Mustang hollered obscenities, and called Hawkeye's house again just to assure himself that he had. When she did not answer, he threw the telephone across the room.

By Wednesday, Mustang couldn't stand himself. He was walking from door to door by headquarters, asking if anyone had seen something suspicious going on in the early morning hours of Saturday, one week ago. Nobody had.

Thursday came around and Mustang tried to speak to the Fürher himself, with information that he hadn't found. At first, he wasn't allowed into the Fürher's office. Then, almost as if on cue, the Fürher himself called Colonel Mustang into the office. Mustang started to try and explain his concerns, but the Fürher, without a word, thrust the notice into the man's hands. Mustang didn't even make it through the first page before looking up at the Fürher.

"They say that they've had her in captivity for almost two weeks."

The Fürher nodded slowly.

"They said that they attacked her from behind. They…" he paused, fingers clenching around the note, voice catching in his throat. The other man nodded, easing the thought of having to say what the attackers had done out loud.

"Do they really think that doing _this_ to her will get what they want?"

The Fürher nodded. "They apparently wanted some alchemical information that she had. But they want _you_ to decipher it. Fill in the missing information. And they want you to come give them the information, or they'll take it from her. I don't think I'm grasping exactly what that means, though, Colonel."

Mustang paled slightly, ink-black eyes closing as he handed the note back to the Fürher. "I do. Where are they located?"

The Fürher peered down at the other paper he had been given, and shrugged just slightly. "This is the address. A small town towards the Northern border, Drell. If you're certain you're willing to go, then you're free to leave now."

* * *

Eyes were closed, breathing ragged as the lithe form inched backwards. Her entire body was trembling violently, until her back hit the wall and she let out a hiss of pain. The room was dark, as it had been for the past two days. They had taken her weapon when they attacked her, before hitting her hard in the back of the head. She could still feel the stickiness of blood, and she spent most of her waking moments reprimanding herself for not being on her guard when they approached. She should have _heard_ them coming.

But she hadn't, and now was not the time to worry about that. She had since given up on trying to run. They had refused to provide her with food, degraded her in every way possible and she was sick from the very thought of it. Every muscle and bone in her body ached, the cuts and bruises swelling and bleeding and hurting to a point where it took the majority of her effort to keep from crying out in pain.

They had stripped her of her uniform at first, left her naked and she felt herself shrink under their gaze, amber eyes looking to the wall, struggling to bite back tears. She felt icy hands running over her back, fingering the scar and then touching where she knew ink still laid in her skin, and she tried to pull away, only receiving a slap.

They degraded her in each and every way they could come up with, and she had given up hope on ever leaving. They planned to skin her alive, because she simply couldn't explain the alchemical array that they wanted to understand. She told them time and time and _time_ again that she was not an alchemist, that nobody knew how to explain this to them.

When they left her two days ago, they gave her something along the lines of a hospital gown, loose and ill-fitting, hardly hanging to her knees—she knew once again that it was a play on their power over her. Then told her to be prepared, because if her Colonel didn't come to explain that alchemical array by midnight tonight, they'd be taking the information they wanted—by force.

* * *

The Fürher was not kidding when he said Drell was a small town, Mustang mused as he passed through, headed to the address he had been given. It was dark, and he paused to check his pocket-watch, seeing that it was ten minutes past midnight, and he felt his stomach tighten in knots. The note had stated that if the information the assailants wanted wasn't received by midnight, they would take it. He was ten minutes late, and he was only hoping that they were hesitant to be so violent in hopes that he might arrive soon.

The address was on a solitary street that was reached only by following several abandoned dirt roads, secluded enough to prevent anyone from finding them. Mustang had to admit that they were far more intelligent than he had initially wanted to believe.

He paused, assessing the situation. It was not raining, the air was clear and dry and the darkness hid things well. He couldn't make out the figures of people moving, but he could see inside through a shrouded window, to see that a light was on in a room on the top floor. He panicked when he heard a pained scream, and then broke into a run.

* * *

"You—" the woman's voice caught in her throat as she tried to tug herself from their grip, "_bastard_!" she shrieked, fingers clawing at the floor, the fiery prong searing through her skin, tears in her eyes. Hands were scraping at one captor's grip on her shoulders, desperate to get him to free her.

But the kidnapper with the weapon tearing at her back just grimaced, and the one holding her down simply tightened his grip. He hissed a reprimand in her ear. "Shut up." The other started scraping at the already burning skin, and she hollered in pain, gritting her teeth and yanking away from the one holding her. He slapped her hard against the back of her head, hitting the wound he had given her when they first found her, and she whimpered, struggle fading slightly as pain clouded her vision.

"You shut up, bitch," he threatened, "your Colonel didn't come for you, so you pay the price."

Through a painfully tight throat she choked out, "I…told you I don't know, _he_ doesn't know… J…just copy the array!" The pleading in her voice disgusted her. The desperation. That she was begging people who were willing to kidnap and kill her just to get information.

She fell still as the man with the knife paused, coming around to her front. "You are beyond difficult," he said wearily, setting the knife in the fire for a moment, the heat turning it white-hot. He was at her level on the floor, on his knees. One hand gently caressed her cheek, the smirk on his face devilish and maniacal and _wrong_. "Difficult, but beautiful." The hand slid to her shoulder, to her side, to her chest, wandering and sending shivers down her spine and she tried to pull away so he couldn't _touch _her anymore but to no avail. "Don't be shy," he mumbled, the grin on his face bordering satanic as he knelt closer to her face, his hand again resting on her cheek. "Now, you'll sit still like you were told!" Suddenly, the hand on her face tightened, nails digging into her skin. She let out a gasp and started to pull away but he held tight, leaving a perfect set of scratches against her cheek, all of them bleeding.

Then he turned from her, shoving her form backwards into the man holding her, and returned to his knife. Removing it from the flames, he shot her a look that was indecipherable, and took his position behind her. She fell still, unable to fight back, unable to even try, to even be bothered to try. Their grip was too tight, their words biting, the tactics painful. All she could do was hope they were quick. She could hardly bear the thought of sitting here a moment longer, feeling exposed under their cold gaze, their taunting tone sickening as the one with the knife returned to the painstaking work of trying to scrape the array her father had given her from her back.

* * *

He entered quietly, though it took all of his self control to remain silent. He wanted to blow the entire building up, but he didn't dare as he might hurt his Lieutenant in the process, with such a blind act of passion. Up the stairs, silently. He could hear voices then, though he could hardly make out the words. First, a man's voice, hearing an obscenity murmured, a slap. Then, he heard whimpering, and a voice that had never sounded so painfully familiar yet so strangely different, pleading with them to copy the array. He knew instantly that it was her, and he started towards the door when he heard a third voice. One hand gently gripped the doorknob, and he opened it just a crack.

He froze. She was pale and bleeding, a loose hospital-gown type shirt hanging on her frame stained a putrid red color. One was holding her shoulders, his hands so tightly against her that his knuckles were white. The other had a knife, which was now skimming around the edges of an alchemical array that he knew well. She was shaking violently, her skin a sickly sallow color, bones protruding from both injury and malnutrition. Whatever self control he had left was gone when he kicked the door open. Three faces turned to him, and he didn't give them a chance to retaliate before he snapped and manipulated the air in such a way to create the fire that was so useful, fire not unlike the one sitting in the fireplace.

"Remove your hands from her _immediately_!" he yelled. He remained in the doorway, with a way to run in case he couldn't fight them alone. "I will not be deciphering a damned thing for you if you continue!"

Her blonde head raised from the floor, eyes wide with panic and then relief when she recognized the voice, the face. She yanked against the kidnapper, planting her feet on the ground, and in shock, he released her arms. She staggered forwards a few steps, tripping over her own feet and stumbling. Mustang caught her under the arms, trying to support her frail body. He couldn't hide the guilt at the sheer look of defeat on her face, defeat in every feature and every crease of her skin as she gripped at his shoulders to stay upright.

The kidnappers immediately rounded on Mustang, and his snapping fingers sent them reeling, the sickening heat prickling at everyone's skin. He heard them crash to the floor, and he balanced her carefully against his form as he snapped again, and again. For doing this to _his Lieutenant_, for degrading her to such a point, for having him arrive and to see her looking so defeated, defeated in a way he had never seen her in all his years of knowing her.

Her hand was in his pocket, and he cast her a cursory glance, puzzled, when he felt her grab what she had obviously been looking for. He may not have seen her in nearly two weeks but her memory was good; he kept a firearm in a holster, in his left pocket, and she was aware of that fact. It was almost a default, along with the spare ignition cloth glove, a gun for when the rain came. The hand that wasn't holding onto his shoulder to keep herself upright was clicking the safety off the gun with expertise, her eyes wide with something along the lines of terror as she held the weapon ready, aimed, and shot.

It was quiet, the flames crackling as persistent background noise as the man with the knife crumpled to the floor. The second kidnapper panicked, scrambling for a weapon in defense. Mustang saw her hand wavering as she aimed for the second time, and he wanted to pull the trigger for her just to end this. After just a moment, she shot. They both watched the other man fall. And then it was silent. Her fingers loosened, and she the gun fell to the floor, clattering and sending a bullet into the wall across the room. Hawkeye tuned slightly, looking up at Mustang, before she burrowed her head into his shoulder, reduced to tears.

* * *

He burned the house, and she leaned wearily against him as he watched. After staring at the fire for what felt like ages, he removed his military jacket, seeing that the chill of the night air was getting to her, and placed it over her shoulders, buttoning it over her form. He knew that the walk back to the tavern where he was staying would be long, and he didn't want her to get ill as well. She had murmured something that sounded like gratitude before walking along beside him, stumbling the whole way. At first, this was deemed somewhat satisfactory for him, until he couldn't take the pace a moment longer and he wrapped his arms around her, easing her off of her feet and carrying her. At first, she protested, but with so little energy left, she could hardly bother. He slid them through the back door of the tavern as quietly as he could, easing her up the stairs and into the room, guiding her to the bed.

"Riza," he said quietly, the first word he had spoken to her since he found her. She looked up slowly, amber eyes almost afraid when she met his gaze. After a moment of silence, he turned from her, digging through the small bag he had brought. "I'm glad I found you." His tone betrayed the level look on his face, revealing that he meant that he was glad he found her _alive_, a word that he neglected to add to his comment. She didn't need to hear that.

Finally, he went back to her, holding a bottle of antiseptic, bandages, and a large button-down shirt of his. "I need to clean the cuts so they don't get infected."

She nodded slowly, huddling under his jacket, which he was motioning for her to remove. Her head was throbbing, but she turned slightly to him, eyes pleading. "Thank you," she murmured, the words hoarse as they slid from her lips. The _desperation_ made him sick. His touch was gentle as he eased the top of the gown off her shoulders to reveal her sliced back. The blood was still seeping from the wound, and his stomach lurched when he saw how deep it was.

Roy did everything he could to move quickly, to clean and cover each injury, to help her ease into the clean shirt, to get her as comfortable as he could in the bed. Her gaze was absent, and he moved to sit across the room, taking out a book to read. "Try to get some rest, Riza," he said quietly, gazing at her from the corner of his ink black eyes.

She was tensing, and he noticed tears in her eyes. He turned back to the bedside, dragging the chair along with him, a hand resting on her shoulder. There was something about the look on her face that tugged at him.

"I'm sorry, Roy," she mumbled. The speech was slurred and scratchy and difficult to understand, but he knew what she said. He gently squeezed her shoulder.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said softly, shaking his head. "You didn't."

"I should have…been paying more attention."

"I should have walked you home," he retorted, anxious to do anything to ease her guilt.

"Put you in danger," she whispered. "Couldn't help you."

"For once, Riza, I protected you. I came to help you," he said softly. "I _wanted_ to help you."

He stared silently, as she raised a hand weakly to wipe at her eyes, shaking her head. She dropped them to her sides then, her gaze blank as she met his. He tuned just slightly, the sorrow an unfamiliar look on her face. Finally, he swallowed thickly. "What did they do to you, Riza?"

* * *

The train ride back to Central was silent. In civilian clothes that they had managed to scrounge up in the town, she looked sick and sorrowful and painfully reserved in a way he was not used to. She sat tensely in the seat closest to the window, arms crossed defensively over her chest, amber eyes staring outside at the passing scenery.

He had sat across from her, having gone out of his way to find a compartment that they could share alone. After what she had been through, he knew she wouldn't take kindly to being near any other strangers. When he finally asked her what they had done to her, he had to restrain himself from leaving to go and attack them again. They had defiled her in a way that he knew he could not repair, a way that went beyond cuts and bruises and gashes and he could suddenly understand why they left her disrobed on their floor as they scraped away the alchemical array from her back, why she was so terrified and yet desperate for human contact. It made all of her behavior so clear, and at the same time, it made it all the more bizarre.

Sitting across from her for an hour was unbearable as she tried for what seemed like the thousandth time to drift off into sleep. Her eyes would flutter slightly as she nodded off, and then snap open after a few moments of rest. The fear on her face made it clear that the memories didn't leave her mind. When she still was falling asleep and waking up after two hours on the train, he moved to sit next to her, taking the coat and laying it over her lap.

"You looked cold," he said gently. It was an excuse, because everything was an excuse. She hadn't looked cold, she looked like she needed an excuse to be near someone she trusted, and looking cold happened to be the most easily accessible excuse.

"Thank you," she mumbled, inching just slightly closer to him. He ran his fingers through her yellow hair, soothing and gentle and patient. Anything to ease her anxieties. Slowly she came to be resting her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. Protective, comforting, everything that they both needed—a reminder of normalcy, of habits that they only shared when alone.

When they had been riding the train for three hours, her body was curled slightly against his side as she slept, and he had nodded off with his head resting atop hers. He stirred, inky eyes staring into the mass of yellow that he was resting upon, and he let out a soft sight of contentment. He had been hunting for her, but now he found her.

* * *

Final Author's Notes: Well, I don't know how much I like this but I'm posting it anyway because I wrote it. I'll take any and all suggestions, and I will probably be posting this as a separate story because it is fairly long. 


	11. Roy, Riza, Al, Ed: Family

Submitted by: Megaroony

Request: Royai + Elric Brothers, family

Author's Notes: I do not own FMA. I keep forgetting to place that disclaimer. I apologize in advance for any wackiness that may or may not ensue; I have a nasty cold accompanied by low fever so…cold medicine whacks you out. ::twitch::

* * *

Sitting quietly at the desk, Riza Hawkeye waited. Edward and Alphonse Elric had just reported for some sort of meeting with her superior officer, Roy Mustang. Though she really had no reason to wait for their reemergence, she felt it necessary to wait, and returned to the paperwork that was sitting neatly in the top right corner. After a few moments, she heard a door creak, and her gaze shot up immediately, only to find the large form of Alphonse Elric peering at her.

"Hello, First Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said quietly. "I would have thought you went home by now, isn't it a bit late?"

She shrugged just slightly, "hello Alphonse. I'm surprised you even bothered going into the meeting with Edward, doesn't he usually send you out?"

The softhearted younger brother trapped in tin nodded, and she could imagine him blushing if only he could, before he shrugged as well. "I know he will but I try anyway, I suppose. Why are you still here?"

"I wanted to wait for Colonel Mustang. I have some work to give him before he heads home." Hawkeye looked down at the papers, and patted the top of the stack. "Quite a bit of work, at that. He's talented when it comes to procrastinating."

Alphonse snickered, and once again she could almost picture the smile that should have been on his face. For what must have been the thousandth time since meeting the boys, she wondered about their past, about the things she didn't know.

"Do you have a family, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

The question struck her suddenly, and her gaze again shifted up from the paperwork she was pretending to be working on. "I beg your pardon?"

The other shook his hands wearily, as if to dismiss his question. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very polite—"

"No, no, that's all right," she replied slowly, shrugging a bit. "Not much of one, I'd suppose. My parents both passed away a long time ago, albeit at different points of time. The people I work with here are like my family, now."

The boy tilted his tin-can head, shoulders sinking in a conveyance of body language that he couldn't properly create. "I'm sorry."

Hawkeye smiled wearily, "that's all right. There's nothing to be sorry about, you had a question. I could have chosen to not answer, right?"

For a moment, they remained silent. Hawkeye turned back to the paperwork on her desk, scribbling away, and Alphonse stood patiently by the door to Mustang's office, waiting for his brother and the Colonel to emerge.

"Do you want to have a family at some point? You own family?"

Again, she snapped to attention, eyes wide with shock. For a moment, she processed the question, before her gaze softened, and she nodded. "Yes, I would think so. At some point in my life, I would like to settle down, marry and have children. Sounds a bit foolish coming from a military officer in my position, doesn't it?" She smiled.

"I don't think it sounds foolish at all, Lieutenant."

The slight flush on her cheeks deepened, and she spun around in her chair and jumped to her feet, coming face-to-face with the Colonel himself. Immediately, she saluted him. "I apologize, sir, I was waiting to give you some papers—"

"That's all right," he replied slowly, a trademarked smirk crossing his features as obsidian orbs peered at her embarrassed features. She was terribly amusing when she was so embarrassed, so caught off guard, and it was difficult to hold back his snicker. "Something about you wanting to settle down at some point seems suited to you."

Edward meandered up to his younger brother, grinning devilishly. "As much as I can't stand Colonel hothead, at least he's found himself a coolheaded Lieutenant to keep him in check; it's about time they realized that they liked each other."

It was silent in the room for a moment, before two figures turned in unison, one holding a gun aimed precisely towards the older Elric's head, and the other with fingers poised to snap.

And two voices, in perfect unison, "Edward Elric, _we heard that!_"

* * *

Final Author's Note:

Mwahahahaha. I loved that ending.


	12. Roy, Riza, Maes, Gracia: Dress

_Prompt: Royai + Dress _

Submitted by: Megaroony

Author's Note: Peoples! **I need requests**! Please request things! Seriously. Because I have 0 requests, and it makes me so sad. I like to write stuff and I am doing the 100 Royai prompts (::insert shameless plug for "I Love You Because", Royai 100 challenge::) but I like your requests, too. They aren't the generic requests, I like challenges and so…please? Please request stuff? I'll give you a cookie.

Set at Maes' and Gracia's wedding. I can think of no way that this could be a spoiler.

* * *

Roy Mustang was standing beside his friend's table, the grin on his face contagious. Maes Hughes and his wife, Gracia, were the centers of attention as they should be. This had been their wedding and they were the newlyweds. But Roy's eyes kept meandering elsewhere.

"What are you staring at, Roy?" Maes' voice surprised him, and the other man turned suddenly, quirking a brow.

"What?"

"You're staring at something. Gracia was trying to tell you, _twice_, that it's time to toss the bouquet and the garter, and asked if you planned on coming." Maes was on his feet then, grinning devilishly. If he didn't know better, Roy would have been certain the man was plotting something.

"Of course I'm coming."

"So what are you staring at? Find someone interesting?" Maes nudged him in the ribs, and Roy grimaced, shoving his friend's arms off of him.

"I'm not staring at—"

Maes suddenly let out a gasp, and then a snicker as he followed Roy's gaze. "You're staring at _Riza_!"

Immediately, Roy stomped on Maes' foot. "I am not staring at my subordinate officer, Maes, if that is what you're suggesting."

The taller man held up his hands in defense, "nothing, I'm not suggesting a thing. She does look very nice though, can't remember the last time I saw her so dressed up."

Roy stood still for a moment, before shaking his head in frustration. And again, his eyes strayed from his friend to Riza, who did happen to look very nice. The dress was a beautiful shade of burgundy, a deep red that blended beautifully with the color of her eyes, and sat just right on her frame. Blonde hair was hanging loose over her shoulders instead of hiding in its' customary clip, which only added to his inability to draw his eyes from her.

She was seated at a table, and looked wholly uninterested in the tossing of the bouquet. He wasn't surprised, as Riza wasn't one to participate in activities like that. However, it seemed as though she was dragged into the escapade, Gracia tugged her from her seat and dragged her to the congregation of women waiting to catch the flowers. In lieu of making any viable attempt to catch the bouquet, Riza held her hands out blindly just to humor Gracia. The look of surprise on her face couldn't have been more perfect when the flowers landed directly in her open palms.

Maes laughed, the grin on his face growing when he eyed the look of shock on Riza's face. It was priceless. "You'll just have to catch the garter now, Roy."

Immediately, Roy shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. She'd murder me on the spot."

"You've got it wrong, she'd kill any stranger who tried to."

"No, Maes."

Frustrated, Maes shrugged and then hurried off to his wife. After causing a fuss with removing the garter, he moved to toss it to the crowd, the majority of who were scrambling to prepare to catch it. Apparently, the traditions were not unknown to the majority of the men caught up in the ruckus. Glancing to Riza, he found himself frustrated for her. She looked surprisingly nervous.

So he resigned himself to catching the garter. Roy spent the moments walking towards the crowd convincing himself that this had nothing to do with attraction to his subordinate officer and everything to do with keeping strangers from looking up her dress. And of course, when Roy Mustang set out to do something, he did it. The fact that he had to shove a few men out of the way to catch that garter was of little importance.

"Oh no."

Gracia glanced to her friend, who was now white as a sheet, hands wrung tight around the bouquet she had inadvertently caught. Carefully, she followed Riza's gaze, and then gaped at the sight. Roy was holding up the garter triumphantly, clearly pleased with himself. After a pause, which mostly entailed of her attempting to stifle her own snicker, Gracia gently urged her friend forwards. When Riza only stiffened against the woman's touch, she shoved.

Stumbling into the crowd of people, Riza glowered, glaring daggers at Roy.

He smiled at her when she approached him, arms crossed defensively across her chest. Despite the flustered look on her face, she still looked quite attractive. And still quite nervous. "It was either me or one of those pigs," he grumbled, glancing to the men who were still evidently drooling over her form.

"You are not one to talk."

Gracia was behind her, and nudged Riza into the chair, still smiling. "Come on, Riza, it's not that terrible."

"That's what _you_ say, at least it was your husband!"

"It's good luck for us, Hawkeye!" Maes was grinning as he swung an arm around Roy's shoulder. "Just let him do it, please?" Gracia stood beside her husband, smiling slightly nervously. "It _is_ tradition."

Sinking into the seat, Riza shook her head. "You—"

"Thanks, Riza! Take it away, Roy," Maes said, clapping a hand against his buddy's shoulder before stepping back and dragging Gracia with him. He was laughing, and when he noticed Riza's right hand twitching, he tried to stifle it. He was asking for trouble.

Roy was nervous when he knelt down on the ground in front of Riza. It seemed beyond inappropriate, but he reminded himself for the umpteenth time that he was doing this for her sake and it had _nothing to do_ with looking up that dress of hers. No, because that would be wrong, and it also would lower him to the level of the pigs who wanted to do the same.

Riza glared. Her gaze was fixated across the room, amber eyes focused over Roy's head with no intention of meeting his gaze. Before he even lifted her ankle to slip the garter on, she was flushing a crimson that came suspiciously close to matching the color of her dress, and she balled her fists. Unlike Gracia and Maes, she found no humor in this situation at all. "Roy Mustang, don't you _dare_ do any more than necessary or so help me God you will regret it," she hissed.

He nodded slightly, "all right, Riza. You can trust me. I'm trying to appease Hughes and his wife, not torment you." Roy carefully lifted the hem of her dress and watched her tense. One hand gently lifted her ankle and started slipping the fabric onto her.

"C'mon Roy, the higher you put it, the more years of happy marriage we'll have!"

If she wasn't trying to sit through this for Gracia's sake, she would have gotten up and punched Maes in the face for that comment. She could feel Roy's hands, now deep under the dress, pushing the fabric up her leg. She tensed.  
When the garter was safely above the knee, he stopped. Hands withdrew from the dress, and he offered them to her, frowning. She was beet red, and trembling just slightly. This woman astounded him; she would stare death in the face in the form of gunshots without a waver in her stance, but having a garter put on her left her shivering.

Escapade completed, she got to her feet amidst cheers for the newlywed couple. Someone was trying to calculate the number of years of happy marriage this would bring for the couple, while both Riza and Roy were struggling to make an escape from the reception area.

He had been separated from her in the crowd, but managed to track her down outside, standing on the small balcony. Her arms were crossed over her chest, slight frown on her face, and she shivered in the chill of the night air. She turned slightly when she heard him approaching, and then turned away, flushing.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, meandering over to her and closing the door behind him. "I couldn't just let—"

"Thank you," she blurted out suddenly, turning to face him. "For keeping their hands off of me. Someone might've been hurt."

He smiled slightly. That comment sounded like something that belonged coming from her. After standing beside her for a moment, he offered her the jacket to his tuxedo, still aware of her slightly shivering form. She accepted it quietly, slipping it over her shoulders.

"You look beautiful," he said, almost hesitantly.

She turned slightly, smiling, though the slight shake of her head indicated that she thought he was trying to ease her nerves. That his compliment wasn't meant to be taken beyond face value, that it was just a comment—a comment, and nothing more."Thank you," she said softly, tugging at the edges of the jacket to ward of the chill.

"I mean it, Riza," Roy murmured quietly, taking a step forward and closing the space between them. He tilted his gaze up towards the starry sky, sighing. "Those men weren't the only ones who couldn't take their eyes off of you."

His unspoken statement of '_my eyes were on you' _rang in her ears, and she sighed softly, closing her eyes. The very thought of her Colonel, of all people, watching her the entire night along with others left her reeling. He certainly had to be beyond that behavior. And at the same time, the comment was not nearly as unnerving as it should have been. Though the other men were disgusting for staring, something about knowing that _he_ stared was almost flattering.

"Do you believe me, or am I now equated to one of those bastards watching you earlier?"

She turned slightly, cheeks still tinted pink from the chill or perhaps embarrassment. "I believe you," she said softly, smiling. "And I would never equate you to them."

He smiled genuinely, heaving a silent sigh of relief that she wasn't furious with him. It was easy to expect anger from her, so such a subdued response to the evening's events was unexpected. Though it wasn't what he had anticipated, it certainly was a welcome reaction.

She tilted her head, following his gaze to the twinkling night sky, smile still on her face. The deep navy seemed to compliment his form, she noted. While he stared upwards, she gave him a quick once-over, and immediately averted her gaze. Such staring was uncalled for and completely inappropriate. He looked like a different person, much like she did, outside of military uniform.

"Riza?"

She snapped out of her daze, amber eyes wide as they met charcoal. "Hm?"

He bowed his head just slightly, offering her his hand. When she took it, he started pulling her back inside, "I was hoping you would do me the honor of having this dance."

* * *

Meh. I liked this, but the ending didn't come out as cleanly as I wanted. I tried sleeping on it, but it didn't help. So this is your ending. Hope you enjoyed, please read and review:)


	13. Roy and Riza: Ribbons

_Prompt: Royai + Ribbon_

Submitted by: Causmicfire

Author's Note: Woot, I got some requests! Don't worry, Dailenna, I'll get to yours I swear, it's just that ribbon gave me an idea. I don't know why, maybe it was something I saw in sociology class.

I regret to inform my (few) steady readers that my semester is drawing down to the wire, so I may write less. Then again, sometimes when I stress out, I write more. Who knows? I'm taking 17 credits and I need to maintain a 3.0+ GPA. In college. So yeah, if school eats me…I promise I'll be back…eventually.

I don't own FMA. Alas, forsooth and all that. I do own quite a few textbooks. And some 35-cent Scranton's for my biology exam.

* * *

Roy had always wondered what it was about ribbons. There was very little to be said about their practicality; colorful bits of satin-like string that could be wrapped around presents or tied into hair, decorated railings and other frivolous things. And though they could be so beautiful in all of these ways, his favorite use was found in a most unexpected location. 

Perhaps it was even more pointless than the bows or hair-ribbons that he knew so well, but this one was by far the one that he would remember.

Each time Riza opened a gift, one of the children in the room would scurry over and steal the ribbon. Said child would then scamper off to a parent of some sorts, before repeating the process again and again, until each gift was open and each ribbon and bow had been collected. The child cheered enthusiastically, approaching Riza with hands behind her back, ribbons trailing on the ground behind her.

"What's this you have here?"

The little girl beamed, and produced a paper plate, which had each and every ribbon from the gifts plastered on it, creating a colorful cascade of a hat. Proudly, she clambered into Riza's lap—with a little help from Roy—and then set the hat on her head.

"Now you can remember all the pretty ribbons Auntie Riza! They're the best part of the presents. That's what mommy said."

Laughing slightly, Riza turned to Roy, one hand stabilizing the makeshift hat. He ruffled his fingers through her yellow hair, and grinned at the little girl.

"Well tell your mother that we all say thank you," he said slowly, his smile growing as the hand in Riza's hair trailed lower, resting on her stomach. "All three of us."

* * *

So...if you didn't get it, it's a BABY SHOWER. Wheee. I'm hoping the ribbon-hat thing isn't another weird Irish-people tradition that my family made up. Apparently, the garter thing (from the "dress" prompt) was. So I'm hoping this one isn't. In any case, I hope you liked it. Sorry it turned out so short, I didn't want to elaborate too much.

Also? I think Roy is right. The strange things people do with ribbons that make them mean so much more than just decorative items would be when they are the most special.

Please read and review:)


	14. Roy and Riza: Music

_Prompt: Royai + Music_

Submitted by: Dailenna

Author's Note: Ok. So in case you didn't notice, I don't want to take the everyday route with my prompts today. I hope that was noticeable in my 'ribbons' prompt, if not, guess what—I wanted to go beyond the everyday route for my prompts today. So here goes. Music. I'm a musician, and a singer, so supposedly this one should come easy. ::cough:: Not.

* * *

It was as if they danced around each other to music that nobody else heard.

He had noticed it after they had begun working together. The Lieutenant came into the office early every morning, and the Colonel was rarely far behind her. The Colonel would proceed to his desk with no more than a brief good morning to his staff, before beginning to work. The Lieutenant would often do the same, though she was a bit more easily distracted by the little puppy that a coworker had given her to care for.

But it wasn't in the mundane, everyday things that their almost invisible dance to silent music was the clearest. No, it went far beyond that.

The Colonel would save a particular seat for her. His dates would sit on his left. But his Lieutenant sat on his right. Never once did friends sit to the Colonel's right at a table, never once did a date take that seat of honor. No, that seat was his Lieutenant's and hers alone. He would occasionally wait about for her, after the long day at the office was done, to talk with her on the walk home; a habit he never once took part in with his other coworkers.

It was the Lieutenant's habits who were even subtler. She would wait for him, day in and day out, when he went through pointless meetings, prepared to rationalize any situation for him. The Lieutenant never once let her guard down when her Colonel was in the room for fear of some horrific events taking place. The most peculiar of her habits was the demeanor she held when she was around him. The change was miniscule if even, but the well put together poker-face tended to fade with just the right wording from her Colonel.

The Colonel and his Lieutenant; of all of the teams at headquarters, they were particularly well-known, not for the things they did but the reputation they held. At military functions, one was not present without the other. In the field, the Lieutenant wouldn't leave until every member of her team was safely removed from harm's way, even if it meant dragging her Colonel out danger alone.

He wondered when they would realize that their actions never once went unforeseen. The Colonel knew exactly what her plans were; the Colonel knew the next step she planned to take and responded at just the right time. Never once were their movements out of sync, never once did they fall out of step.

The silent music that Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye created was the most beautiful to behold; it was a shame neither of them were aware enough to hear.

* * *

I lied, because I posted this right after the last one, I foooooooled you. No, actually...I just wanted to write this prompt. This is from someone's point of view, a guy's. I debated between it being Havoc or Hughes; I think I may like Hughes better but I couldn't pick, so that's your choice. Enjoy, and please read and review! 


	15. Ed and Winry: Paint

_Prompt: Ed and Winry, Paint_

Submitted by: Causmicfire

Author's notes: Yay reviews and requests, thank you. Please enjoy. I don't have much to say tonight, spare that this will likely be some random reflective Ed/Winry thing that has very little to do with paint—but it will probably be mildly angsty because…well, I dunno. I supposed Beethoven's _Pathetique_ does that to me. It's so pretty. Enough of this rambling…

* * *

At the time, Alphonse was just a bit too young to be playing with the finger paints, but Winry and Edward were having a grand time. The two were perched atop a mound of newspaper, with the small tins of paint open and ready for use in front of the two children. Edward slammed his hand into a small jar of golden paint, the same shade of saffron as his hair, and smeared the color onto his page.

"What're you doing?"

He laughed, and shook his head at Winry as though she was quite the incompetent artist. "I can't tell you, then it won't be a surprise!"

"Why does it have to be a surprise?"

"Because it's going to be for _you_ so don't look at it!" Edward stuck his tongue out at Winry, and turned slightly, defending his picture vigilantly while painting his little yellow sun.

"Oh." Winry looked back down to her blank page. She had since decorated it with several splotches of color that did little to portray an image. Instead, they looked like a rainbow of dots, scattered across the page.

"What're you making?"

"I don't know yet," Winry replied with a yawn, looking at her smeared paper with childish disgust before discarding it to the side. Edward watched her stare at a fresh, blank sheet of paper, curious. He turned one eye to his little painting, situating the sun just so on the page. "Why'd you want to paint something for me?"

He shrugged, turning his head over his shoulder to grin at her. "I don't know, 'cause it seemed like a good idea."

Winry waved a hand, and then turned from him, little fingers dipping into the red paint and then blue, yellow and gold. She worked away on her little masterpiece quietly, ignoring Edward's occasional peek over her hunched form.

After a few moments, he clapped his hands together, turning to offer his small painting to her. A yellow sun was peeking over the horizon of an ocean—that was what he said the painting was of, at least.

"Wait for me, I'm not done yet!" She whined as Edward again tried to peer at her picture. She bowed lower to protect it, occasionally coming up for more paint.

Finally, she held her picture up proudly, beaming at Edward and waiting for his response. "It's done! Look!"

She shoved the still-wet painting into his view, and he swallowed, taking it from her gingerly and staring at it, before setting it on the side. The little red heart, and the two happy faces that were meant to resemble them made him smile.

Edward still had that picture somewhere, he was almost certain of it.

* * *

I lied, it wasn't angsty. Please read and review :)


	16. The Military Gang: Power Outage

_Prompt: Mustang, Hawkeye, Falman, Breda, Fuery, Havoc. Power failure_

Submitted by: Causmicfire

Author's Notes: First, I want to tell Kitsune Moonstar that I didn't forget about your request. **Actually, look everyone, I didn't forget about anyone's request!** I have been busy and got distracted and just…never finished.

I'm seeing humor in the future of this request. Whee.

Dude, this is such an OLD OLD OLD request. It took me forever to write. I'm sorry it took me so long, but I wrote it, I swear! I'm not too fond of the ending.

* * *

Outside, the rain howled against Central headquarters, making the walls shake. Many of the officers that had managed to report to work that morning were now stuck, and the fair majority of them were griping about being stuck at military headquarters, of all places, on a Friday evening.

Among the stranded officers were all of Colonel Roy Mustang's team, including their unofficial member, Black Hayate. The little dog was bounding about the office hysterically, barking at each and every person in the room before scampering back to his mother to whimper. The only other whimpering in the room could be heard from Second Lieutenant Heymens Breda, who was sitting awkwardly in the corner, staring absently at the chessboard in front of him.

"Not only are we stuck here because of the rain but that _monster_ is here too!"

"Hayate is not a monster, Second Lieutenant. He is a puppy, and thunder frightens him." The calm reply came from a patient First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, who was gingerly cradling the puppy in her lap, scratching his ears.

Breda murmured disapproval, but returned to his position of honor hidden in the corner, anxiously pretending to come up with a proper movement in his game against Warrant Officer Vato Falman. Falman only shook his head in disgust as thunder cracked outside the window, shaking the panes, and stood from the chessboard. "You aren't paying attention," he declared, excusing himself from the game and proceeding to his desk, fishing out a book to read.

A smaller man crossed the room, smiling nervously at Hawkeye before crouching before the puppy in her lap. Master Sergeant Kain Fuery grinned and started scratching Black Hayate's ears, to which the dog yapped brightly and scampered out of his mother's arms and down to the floor, skipping around Fuery. He laughed as the little dog placed both paws on his chest and tried to lick his face.

Across the room, Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc attempted to busy himself by fussing with the butt of his cigarette. The third he'd smoked his way through the past hour or so, as he little else to occupy his time. By now, Hawkeye had had enough of the smoke, and waved a hand in the air to dispel the smell, but didn't bother to make a comment about how smoking was going to send him to an early grave. It wasn't worth the argument.

"I hate the rain."

All eyes in the room turned to Colonel Roy Mustang, who was standing, quite frustrated, in the door of his office, holding a large kettle of sorts and what appeared to be mugs. He had last been seen in a quest to find some sort of tea or coffee, as the majority of his team members were getting jittery with nothing to do or eat. Mustang had left Hawkeye in charge, as he didn't trust his other subordinates alone.

"We know that, sir," Hawkeye said levelly, getting to her feet to take some of the mugs from his hand before he dropped them. Just as she took three of the mugs from his hand, another loud crack of thunder rang, followed by a flash of lightening. And then, the lights flickered out.

In the shock of the moment, and the clamor that ensued, the sound of glass shattering on the floor was heard, followed by a comparatively large _thud_ as two bodies fell to the ground. Obscenities were murmured, and someone in the building screamed something about finding a candle.

Finally, with a snap, the room was lit enough to reveal what had happened. It appeared as though Black Hayate was excited for Mustang's return to the office, and pranced over to him. As the lights were knocked out from the presumable power failure, the dog collided with Hawkeye, skidded a foot or so, and then successfully tripped up Mustang. All three of them were now on the floor in a comical heap, though Hawkeye looked flustered and Black Hayate simply confused as to how he ended up in such a mess. After getting to his feet, Mustang offered her a hand, and pulled her up as well.

After a bit of fishing around, candles were found—Lieutenant Hawkeye _insisted_ on preparedness and she was correct when she said that she had candles in her desk—the room was adequately lit, or at least just enough to make it manageable to move about without imminent danger.

"Fuery!"

Breda was stomping nervously around, holding a candle and keeping a disturbingly close eye on the circle of light it created, searching for the dog so it wouldn't get closer to him.

"Hm?" The younger man tilted his head, his candle resting gingerly in the palm of his hand. He winced when wax dripped down his finger, before resituating the candle to alleviate the small burn.

"You're the technical whiz-kid. Fix the power!"

Fuery shook his head. "I—I can't fix the power," came the anxious reply, "that lightning probably shorted out the entire circuit breaker. It will take hours to fix! And that's assuming that it actually hit the building to short the circuits. A power line could be knocked out or—"

"Thank you, Fuery," Falman said slowly, waving a hand to dismiss the ramblings. "You can't fix it yourself. We'll figure out a way to handle sitting in the dark for a few minutes."

Havoc sighed, kicking his feet up onto his desk. "Why is it that we're being held captive at military headquarters again?"

"The rain! It's pouring outside, and the streets are flooded and the walk home could kill you alone especially if you got caught up in some of the flooded areas. It's a disaster out there. Not to mention the lightening. It's too dangerous!" Fuery responded emphatically, as though he didn't understand how Havoc could be so particularly dense. "We're just stuck until it clears up some."

"A little rain won't kill us."

"Well in case you didn't notice just yet, this isn't a little rain!"

Havoc bickered with Fuery about being confined to headquarters for a moment or two, before Mustang broke into their conversation. "Enough! Havoc, we're stuck here until it isn't dangerous to go back home. Fuery, don't bother arguing with him, it isn't worth the trouble. I checked outside when I was out, and from what I can surmise, it looks like we'll be stuck here all night."

There was a collective groan of disapproval.

"We're stuck here _all night_?" Fuery said, panicked. "In here?"

Mustang nodded, planting his candle atop his desk. "All night, in here. That is, unless you intend to sleep in the infirmary."

After a moment or so, Fuery sighed, sinking into his desk chair. "I don't want to sleep in the infirmary."

"Then sleep in here," Hawkeye replied quietly, crossing her arms. "It's nearly 2100 hours. I'm going to go see if I can find something to eat, is anyone else hungry?"

All of the occupants of the room nodded, and she immediately regretted asking. Without a word, she lifted her candle off of her desk and started towards the door, only to be stopped by Mustang.

"Sir?"

"You won't be able to carry food for six people back without help," he replied quietly, following her out the door. Quickly, he paused, peering back into the room of his remaining officers. "Try to behave."

Once Hawkeye and Mustang were clear from the room, Havoc started laughing, though it was fairly quiet. "Guys, I have a _great_ idea."

* * *

It was hard to not notice the atmosphere in the office when Hawkeye and Mustang returned. Fuery attempted to be focusing on paperwork, though it was evident that his eyes strayed elsewhere. Havoc was dragging on an unlit cigarette, merely amusing himself with the action and achieving absolutely nothing. Quietly, Mustang and Hawkeye delivered food to the occupants of the office, with intentions of disturbing their subordinates as little as possible, when Havoc emitted an indecently loud yawn.

Mustang looked from the plate of food he was holding to Havoc, quirking a brow.

"What? I'm tired."

"It is hardly 2130 hours, Lieutenant Havoc. You can't possibly be that tired so early," Hawkeye replied calmly.

"2130 hours is _plenty_ late for me to be tired, I'll have you know. I'm not hungry, I want to go to sleep," Havoc peered at his plate with a look of disgust, and then pushed it away.

"We found some blankets earlier while you were out," Fuery added.

"Only five though, so it's first come first serve!"

Immediately, as though the men knew what was coming, they lunged for the small pile of blankets now sitting folded on top of Hawkeye's desk. In the moment of ensuing confusion, each man proudly retreated with his blanket—leaving Lieutenant Hawkeye and Colonel Mustang staring at the single blanket remaining.

"Well, I don't plan on going to sleep soon, so you can have the blanket, sir."

Mustang gently waved a hand, shaking his head. "That's all right, I don't need a blanket."

"You'll catch cold if you don't have a blanket," she replied, poking at her food absently.

"So will you."

Amber eyes met obsidian, and they glared at each other for a moment or so as Hawkeye defensively crossed her arms.

Havoc piped up then, his voice quiet, "You can share the blanket."

"We can_not_ share the blanket!" Mustang replied stiffly.

Fuery glanced nervously from Mustang to Hawkeye, and then to Havoc. "You're both right. It's cold—if you don't keep yourselves warm while you try to sleep you'll get ill. You can share the blanket."

Hawkeye looked blearily from Havoc, to Fuery, and then scanned the rest of the occupants of the room—Breda and Falman were playing a game of chess and apparently now doing _everything_ in their power to avoid the issue going on between their superior officers.

"Sergeant Major Fuery has a point, Lieutenant…" Mustang began, hesitantly.

She frowned, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her uniform. "If you don't mind sharing some of the blanket with Black Hayate as well, I suppose it will be all right."

* * *

Two hours passed and nearly everyone was asleep. Most of the officers had taken their desk chairs as their beds, situating jackets and coats against the desktops to form pillows and wrapping the blanket around their shoulders. The only two who were not at their desks were the Colonel and the Lieutenant. Together, they were sitting on the couch, with Black Hayate perched calmly in between them, the space of one cushion separating their bodies.

"This is not going to work, Lieutenant," Mustang whispered, turning his head to face his very stubborn First Lieutenant who_ insisted_ upon being this far away from him. "The blanket won't reach that far."

"I have no intention to make it appear as though we are fraternizing, sir."

"I have no intention of letting you catch your death of a cold. Come over here so we can share the blanket," Mustang ordered, his voice still softer than a whisper.

Hawkeye remained firmly seated at the opposite end of the couch. Mustang turned, glared at her despite the dark, and then reached over, grabbed the shoulder of her uniform jacket, and tugged. With a disgruntled _oof_, she slid over at his pull and nudged Black Hayate out of his place, now seated nearly against the Colonel's shoulder.

"This is extremely inapprop—" she began.

"Who is going to come in? Just try to get some sleep." Mustang patted the space on his lap, and Black Hayate hopped back up. After a moment's hesitance, Hawkeye reached and took her half of the blanket from Mustang, curling up beneath it, shivering just slightly.

They sat quietly in the dark, the dog already snoring away as her head lolled just slightly to side as she nodded off. A few moments of this, and she felt an arm pressing against her ear, gently nudging her head down and to the left—he was trying to ease her into resting her head against his shoulder.

"Good night, sir," she whispered as she finally began to fall asleep.

"Sleep well, Lieutenant."


	17. Roy, Riza, Maes, Gracia: Double Date

_Prompt: Double Date_

Submitted by: Kitsune Moonstar

Author's Notes: This will be AU. The request is a double date with Maes, Gracia, Roy and Riza, set in college. Since I didn't attend college in the early 1900's I can't really make an appropriate assumption as to how college works. So you'll be hearing about my takes on college.

Quick thing: I wanted to thank everyone for their reviews! New people are reading, and that makes me so happy. Please keep coming back to read—I'll keep writing!

New note: I finally finished this! This has taken me forever, so I'm sorry it took so long. I like the ending; at least what happened, not necessarily execution.

* * *

"Roy, you can't possibly tell me you're staying in on a Friday night." Maes Hughes leaned against the concrete-wall of the miniscule dormitory room he shared with his roommate, Roy Mustang.

"I'm staying in on a Friday night." Roy drummed his fingertips on the top of his desk, before shifting the pile of books and opening a rather large text with the title _Organic Chemistry_.

"C'mon, Roy. It's a Friday night! I'm going out with Gracia, why don't you come. I promise, organic chemistry will be here tomorrow morning and you can do it then. Please?" Maes grinned, knowing his friend couldn't resist the temptation to go out on a Friday evening and would likely repent soon. "We're headed to that new bar. Just to take some time away from work. You know you want to come, Roy!"

Unenthusiastically, Roy got to his feet, reaching for his coat. "You're going on a date with Gracia. I don't understand why you're dragging me along…"

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready. Maes and I are going to go to the new bar that opened just last week. _I_ intend to do something with this long weekend. Are you really going to stay in and study?"

The blonde nodded slowly, tugging her hair from her face. "I'm behind in my work."

"But it's a Friday night, we have a long weekend. Why don't you come out with Maes and I? It will be fun."

"You are going on a date with him, Gracia. Why would I want to tag along on your date?"

"Because knowing Maes, he'll be bringing his roommate along with him. You could go out with him—oh, come on Riza; it'll be a double date. We'll have fun!" Gracia set her hands on her hips, smiling hopefully. Carefully, she took one hand and stole the small pile of books from her roommate's desk, quickly backing away. "Please?"

"Gracia, I really shouldn't—"

At the sound of a knock, both women turned to the door. Gracia, arms loaded with books, could not answer it, and so Riza moved to open the door. Standing before her were two men; the taller one who she recognized to be Maes Hughes. The other, she wasn't so certain, but he certainly seemed to be coming along against his will.

"Hello Maes, Gracia's right here. She's stolen my textbooks," Riza said flatly, stepping aside to allow Maes and his assumed roommate into their small dormitory room. She closed the door behind them, and returned to her desk, searching for a notebook to do work from while Gracia kept tabs on her texts.

"Riza, you want to stay in tonight too? That's _disgraceful_!" Maes' voice boomed in the small room, and Riza winced.

"Unlike you,_ I_ remain a college student even on my days off. I have work to do. Please tell your girlfriend to give me _back_ my textbooks."

As Riza and Maes bickered about how she intended to stay in and study, Gracia studied the man who Maes had brought with him. The most fascinating of his behavior, spare the fact that he was standing rather awkwardly just a few inches from their doorway, was that he was staring—obviously—at Riza.

"I don't think I've met you," Gracia declared suddenly, silencing both Riza and Maes with the single statement, before extending her hand to shake his. "I'm Gracia, but I'm sure you know that."

Hesitantly, Roy took her hand, smiling politely. "Nice to meet you. I'm Roy. And I'm sorry Maes is being such a pain," he added, charcoal eyes glancing towards the woman sitting at the desk.

Maes and Gracia stared expectantly at Riza, who was evidently doing everything in her power to seem uninterested in the situation. Finally, she sighed. "Riza," she said, nodding towards Roy, before turning directly back to her books. "From Gracia's earlier comments, it seems safe to say you aren't here of your own accord."

Roy swallowed. Ordinarily, he wasn't uncomfortable around strangers or women—or strange women. But something about Riza, who was now deliberately burying her head into her work, left him unsettled. Slowly, he shrugged. "That's all right. I take it you're being dragged along for tonight's escapades."

Immediately, Riza slammed her notebook shut, turning and gawking at Roy. His statement didn't need clarification; she knew exactly what he was implying. "No!"

"You're so stubborn, Riza! Please? You'll never hear the end of it if you don't come with us," Maes added tauntingly. "Besides, look at how Roy is staring at—"

There was a crash, and Maes staggered a step forward. Roy's arm had collided with his friend's head, and Maes stood quietly, rubbing the sore spot. "What'd you do _that_ for?"

Roy simply glared, and this remained his only response. After a few moments of silence, Riza got to her feet, closing the notebook she was working from. Quietly, she crossed to the closet and dug out her coat, stepping into shoes.

"Only if you promise to leave me be for the rest of the weekend," she declared levelly.

Maes stared at her, positively beaming about his successful attempt at getting her to leave her work behind for a night. "I promise," he said tauntingly, the maniacal grin growing as he watched Riza meander about the room, getting ready.

"I don't believe you."

He raised his hands in self-defense, watching as Riza's amber eyes narrowed at him. "Really, I promise. I'll leave you alone."

Considering his response, she finally relented, sighing as she grabbed her bag. "All right. Let's just go and get this over with."

* * *

"I brought you a drink."  
Riza grimaced, "I don't drink—I told you that already."

"_Water_. I brought you water. I was listening when you told me that you don't drink," Roy replied quickly, handing her the cup. Riza studied it, and then took a grateful sip.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's all right. I've seen a lot of people bring you drinks so I figured something you might actually drink would be nice for a change." Roy carefully situated himself in the seat beside her; dark eyes traveling to the dance floor as he watched Gracia and Maes prancing about to the obnoxious beat of the music. He found himself wincing at just how noisy the pulsating beat was.

"The music is very loud," Riza declared, still frowning, as she finally turned to meet Roy's gaze for the first time that night since they'd left the dormitories. "It's giving me a headache."

"I agree," he grumbled, shooting a glare to the disc-jockey as though that would make the music quieter.

"I may have some aspirin if you need it," Riza suggested quietly, leaning forwards so her voice could be heard.

Roy shook his head. "No thanks, but I'm getting out of here, at least for a couple of minutes." He stood then, crossing his arms as he took a step away from the table. Riza remained seated, sipping her water, watching the people on the dance floor who were so close they were nearly on top of each other, and rolled her eyes. "Coming?"

Snapped out of her trance, she looked up, and then registered what he said. Definitively, she put her cup down on the table and shoved the chair away, getting to her feet. Nodding, she put on her coat, following him to the door.

Outside, the smooth concrete rumbled with the music from inside. She leaned her back against the wall and sighed, closing her eyes. "It's much nicer out here. Quieter."

He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Are you at least glad you came out?"

She considered his question, and then nodded just slightly. "Yeah. I am. Reading a microbiology textbook just doesn't seem like a good way to pass a Friday night on a long weekend." Riza turned slightly, meeting his gaze. "Are you?"

"Yes. I have to agree—though Maes stole my organic chemistry textbook; I don't even know where he put it so I couldn't have stayed in anyway. I am glad I came out." He paused, looking sheepishly to the ground, "it's been nice talking to you. I can't believe I've never run into you before today."

Riza shrugged just slightly, "I have a lot of classes, so I spend most of my free time studying. Gracia hates it."

"That makes sense. Not that she hates it, I mean—that you spend a lot of time studying because of your classes." Roy shrugged slightly, tilting his head. "You can still hear the music out here, it's so loud," he groaned, sighing.

"Yeah. Obnoxiously so."

They stood quietly, listening to the music as it played inside where the people who liked such indecently loud music enjoyed themselves. Roy turned, leaning a bit closer to her. Riza was still looking absently up to the starry sky, and didn't react to his movement. He inched closer, and she remained looking upwards, still unresponsive to his approach. As he was closer, he leaned over and moved to plant a kiss on her cheek—and received a quick, sharp slap to the face.

"Ouch—what was that for?!"

She turned, arms crossed defensively across her chest, cheeks flushed crimson. "I have _no_ intention of kissing you on our first date, Roy Mustang."

He placed a hand on his stinging cheek, looking nervously at the ground. It took a moment to register her statement: on _our_ first date, she had said. Her implication made sense when he paused to think about it, and he met her gaze once again, smirking just slightly. "I see. Are you busy tomorrow night?"


	18. Roy and Riza: Shoujo Manga

Request: _Shoujo Manga_ from Megaroony. Royai.

Author's Notes: I am back people! Really, I swear. Alas, 'tis my last request that I have on my list! Oh woe sniffle.

So if you request a drabble, I'll take them! And I will write it…eventually…

I like this one. It makes me smile. I finally feel like I'm starting to get my Royai muse back!

* * *

The office was silent when the clock finally struck five PM, the official dismissal time of all the people in Colonel Mustang's office spare Mustang himself and his immediate subordinate, First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Though he always understood why he was required to stay—he never did managed to get through everything he was supposed to on time during the day—he did not understand why Lieutenant Hawkeye was forced to remain around. Of course she would arrange all of the files in the office and deliver them as necessary as a part of her job, but she _invariably_ finished her work long before the five o'clock hour and would spend the rest of the evening either working n the next day's papers or reading quietly.

Tonight was no different, either. She had finished at exactly four twenty-six—he had gotten into the habit of making note when she finished, only to see if a pattern would emerge. It never did, because yesterday she had finished at three fifty-six and the day before at four fifteen. So when the clock struck five o'clock, she continued reading as he went on with his work.

It was difficult to concentrate on the papers on his desk, especially after the five o'clock hour, because all he wanted was to go home after the long day. So after working for until seven minutes after five, he looked up and tried to figure out what was so engaging that it could keep his Lieutenant occupied for nearly an hour without her shifting her weight once. From her position at her desk, he couldn't see the book clearly, so he got up on an expedition to retrieve a file folder that he really did not need.

Crossing the room, he looked down at the book she was reading—and promptly leaned away from it, surprised. "Lieutenant?"

She looked up, now acutely aware of the fact that he was hovering directly over her shoulder. Her right hand carefully folded over the top corner of the book and she closed it. "Yes sir?"

With a devilish smirk, he quickly reached out and grabbed her book from the desk. "I really never pictured you as one to read something like _shoujo manga_, of all things. Really. Such a sappy, girl-power, sentimental type novel—with pictures, even—just doesn't seem to suit you."

She froze, flushed just slightly, eyes narrowed. "If you really must know, sir, Elysia absolutely _insisted_ that I read this."


	19. Riza and Scar: Spring

Prompt: Riza and Scar, spring

Requested by: Shiruba Neko

Author's Notes: Okay. So…Riza and Scar. Dude, you have no idea. I have no idea what's gonna happen. I'll give it a try, though.

* * *

He had noticed her the first time she raised those two guns at him and swung her leg beneath the feet of her commanding officer, the little excitable military officer with light yellow hair and deep amber eyes. If it hadn't been for her pallor and hair color, he would've pinned her for a woman he knew years earlier, when his homeland was still peaceful and times were not quite so bleak.

No matter how much he despised the military—even more how he despised that this _woman_ devoted her life to protecting a murderer—he couldn't shake the memory of the devotion on her face. That was what held him so firmly. She knew her path was not necessarily the clearest, knew that she might have to kill to achieve her means, to protect her goal. And yet she continued.

That determination was what brought him to the park that particular Sunday afternoon.

She wasn't particularly difficult to trail. Following a trained military officer on duty would be like trying to catch a train while walking; but after keeping tabs on her for a few weeks he found that she spent her Sundays in the park with her small black-and-white dog. He knew for a fact that she was armed, because he had learned to trace the curves of her body and recognized the distinct lump a pistol made on her left thigh beneath her skirt.

Today she had taken a seat under a tree, tiredly tossing a ball for the dog to run and then return with. He watched her toss the blue ball once, and then twice, and then three times—over and over, until the dog seemed worn out and climbed into her lap. Somehow, he felt _jealous_ of that little mutt who got to be in such close proximity to her. When she closed her eyes, scratching the dog's ears, was when he chose to make his move.

She turned suddenly when she felt weight settle on the bench beside her, and her eyes snapped open. The moment she recognized his face, he offered his hands in a sign of peace.

"I do not want anything with you of that nature," he declared slowly. Her amber eyes were wide with muted panic, as though she didn't believe him. And he couldn't bring himself to look away; those eyes were the same shade as his mother's; his grandmother's. Though his love lived in Amestris and was born and raised there, somehow he knew that wasn't the full story. It couldn't be.

"Why are you staring?"

She sounded angry when she finally spoke, and he swallowed. "Somebody wanted me to meet you," he replied quietly, trying to level the nerves in his voice. Her tension was radiating and starting to impact him. "There is a familiarity that I can't place a finger upon. You look like a woman I used to know."

"If you want some explanation then I'm afraid you will not be getting one. It is just a coincidence that—"

"Was it your mother or your father, Miss Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye visibly tensed, eyes narrowing violently. She contemplated her answer, before her gaze shifted to the cobblestones beneath their feet. "I am not Ishbalan, if that is what you are insinuating."

"No," he replied slowly. "I'm not insinuating that you are Ishbalan." He paused, tilting himself into her frame of vision. "But I cannot deny that I see traits of Ishbalan blood in your veins; the determination and honor and willingness to sacrifice for your cause. You do not need to tell me what connection it is that you have." He gingerly tapped her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his eyes. "I can see it in your eyes."

* * *

Final Author's Notes: Okay? So Scar….totally OOC? Probably. I wanted him to have an almost obsession with her. Borderline creepy; almost like he was beyond attraction to this obsession…thing. Well. I tried, at least. This one was tough, but I kinda like how it ended up considering the pairing I was given and that I'm a diehard Royai fan. 


End file.
